Dirty White Lies
by H. Brown
Summary: DJ Kirra was Sin City's best hitman, working for Renveau the ruler of Sin City before the Roarks moved in, this is his story of murder, revenge and booze. Rated M due to violence and adult language.
1. Wish You Were Here

Disclaimer: I did not make Sin City, or the Characters. They respectfully belong to Frank Miller and Dark Horse comics. Cheers to both for putting out something great.

Foreword from the Author: From what I've seen, the Sin City section which has recently opened could use a fic. In all cases I want to deliver one! I will be staring mainly my own character but some fan favorites (Dwight, Marv, The Salesmen, Kevin, The Roark's, and more will also be mentioned, conversed with and chatted about).

Props to the people that read this, Fan and Writers everywhere would be up shit creek with out you. Also, I'd like to mention, this is an alternate timeline, none of this has anything to do with any of my other stories.

Sin City  
Dirty White Lies  
Chapter One: Wish you were here

* * *

The Bands playing like a broken record and all I can think about is when. When will they get here, when will my money be mine and when will I get the hell out of this cess pool of a bar. Sin City, it was a nice place if you were a cockroach or below. The bar itself is choked in smoke and I can barely keep my eyes open for three seconds before they tear up from that acrid smelling mist. In all respects I would kill the guy smoking the cigar over there had I a gun and the bar been a little emptier.

"Mr. Johansson."

I swiveled around and met my employers, two guys in suits. They hid their eyes and kept inconspicuous, not that it was hard in a dive like this.

"Where's my money?" I asked impatiently, I wasn't sticking around any longer then I had to.

The one on the left, dressed in an over shirt, shorts and black ball cap handed me a briefcase. The guy in the right had what looked like a massive rain slicker on but underneath I could tell he had a t-shirt and long light brown cargo pants. The one in the over shirt had chestnut brown hair; the one to the right of him had dirty blondish brownish hair.

I checked the bag and counted the money. Everything seemed to be in order till I looked up. I had a gut feeling that I should've had my piece on me. The two of them had guns buried deep into my chest. From that distance I knew damn well no one would hear the shots and what's worse the two had aimed for major points.

"Ah shit." I managed to get out before two unholy pains ripped my nerves limb from limb.

The Darkness enclosed my eyes and I felt an overwhelming calm take my body…

* * *

I quickly put my revolver away and grabbed the Money. My partner swiveled the dead man to the bar and put his head down on his forearms. The bartender came over and looked at him.

"He alright?" The guy asked concerned.

"Just too much to drink." I replied.

It'd be a couple hours before the dumbass figured out what had transpired in his bar. So everything was going as clockwork, nothing out of the ordinary. Me and my partner stepped out of the bar not saying a word to each other till me got into the car. My partner checked his watch. It was one of his ticks; he was punctual to a fault.

"8:52, not bad, I was expecting the guy to be a little more tanked and babble a bit before we had to remove him." My partner answered as I started the engine and tore off the down the street.

It was hotter then the pits of hell. Summers in the city were equivalent to those of Las Vegas or Phoenix. In the day, you could cook an egg on the sidewalk, in the evening you could cause rain by moving your hand through the humid air. The sewers would usually stink up the place and the lack of rain made it unbearable at times.

The car rolled across the brick roads and pavements. We crossed streets till we got uptown. There we could race to the finish without the threat of the cops. Our employer had the Basin City Police Department and he used them accordingly. So far he'd muscled out his competition by simply raiding them or hiring people to frame them, or simply hiring people to kill them. Of course no one who was hired for a single job lived after that job. Me and my Partner, we were the guys that saw that it went that way. The Boss didn't want word getting out that there was easy money in Sin City if you worked for him.

I smiled as we raced past 119th and Oakley. This was our territory and if anyone crossed it, they'd have to worry about a battalion of armed hit men whacking their guys left and right. I pulled up to the building and stopped the car. Me and my partner got out of the car and walked into the building passing the two armed guards. So far, I've only seen them in action once and that one time made me never want to see them in action again. I was stone cold but these guys were even more gruesome then some of the lone sharks we'd dealt with.

"Good Evening Mr. Kirra, Mr. McGuiness." The one on the left said.

My Partner and I stepped into the building and past the front desk, "Mr. Renveau is waiting for you." The secretary chimed in.

The elevator was behind a locked door that lead straight to Mr. Renveau's office. I've taken it many times and I still haven't gotten used to traveling 10 floors in 2 seconds. The ride itself took 6 seconds in all and I was always nauseous after it. My Partner and I stepped out the door and walked down the hallway. The door to Mr. Renveau's office was guarded by enough top notch guards that no one in their right mind would even dare want to tangle with him. Lucky for the two of us, we were granted passes into his office. They closed doors behind us and we stood silently. The chair slowly revolved around and Mr. Renveau looked at us in the eyes.

"You get the man?" The Boss asked.

"Yes we did, sir." I answered quickly.

He reached into a small wooden box and removed a cigar and looked at me and my Partner. After lighting it he took a puff and smiled.

"I like you two. You seem like rather low individuals but you compliment each other nicely." Mr. Renveau answered.

I smiled graciously at the compliment, "Thank you, sir."

"It is a pity you know, having to do this." Mr. Renveau answered shaking his head.

I hesitated with a response, "Do what sir?"

"This," He said.

The doors opened up and my partner and I turned around. We didn't stand a chance as the muscles grabbed us. I felt a sledgehammer knock the wind out of me; My Partner, hunched over, blood dribbled down his chin.

"You two boys, you fed up!" Renveau cursed, "There's word on the god damn street about these suicide jobs! And NOW GOD DAMNIT! I've got to put a lid on it. You let the word get out, or at least you didn't do your jobs and now you fing pay for it!"

I looked up at Renveau, my mind not going clearly, "It wasn't our fault."

"NO KIRRA! It is your fault. It was your duty for this never to slip out unless I wanted it to! I never remember wanting it to ever slip out so it's your fault!" Renveau shouted, "Now! Your lives are forfeit!"

My eyes widened as a thug raised a gun at me. They put towels on the ground and I felt the fiery burning sensation I'd felt so many times before tear through my lung. I hit the ground followed by another shot and my partner hitting the ground next to me. Poor Marty, he never even did anything, neither did I. God damn son of a bitch. I guess I was considered lucky, the dumb grunt muscle missed a vital point and my lung didn't take much blood but it sure looked like I was a dead guy.

Damnit Marty, I wish you were here and not among those mounds of corpses. That way I'd only have to kill for revenge, not to avenge you.


	2. Wrong Side of Town

Disclaimer: I did not make Sin City, or the Characters. They respectfully belong to Frank Miller and Dark Horse comics. Also, any characters I come up with that are mentioned in any of the comics, you can guess are mine.

Foreword from the Author: Ah yes, I decided that I'll try and split up my duties between Haley brown and This Sin City fiction. Not a bad piece of work for a start and I don't think it'll be that hard to churn the two stories out to whatever length I think they should be.

Sin City

Dirty White Lies

Chapter Two: Wrong Side of Town

I woke up in the darkness. The air was hot and stale. I tried to grab my face for a second and only hit a piece of cloth; a towel. I pulled it off my face and instantly wished I hadn't. The smell of rotten eggs and burned wood shoved its way up my nostrils. I sneezed in the darkness and started trying to make my way out of the dumpster. I had to kick the lid to open the thing up, wasn't fun when your lungs felt like two deflated balloons.

I rolled out of the dumpster and slapped onto the alley pavement. Things had been going good up till about. I paused, I didn't have a clue how long it had been since I'd been shot, only that I passed out on a body reflex. Son of a bitch must pay. The thought of shooting him propelled me to get back on my feet.

The morning light, as dismal as it was, was welcomed with open arms compared to the crap and eggs smell inside the dumpster. I walked slowly and deliberately on a simple thought. I needed to get to a doctor, one that trusted me, not the Syndicate. The Syndicate just hit rock bottom on my shit list.

I ran the faces of the sons of bitches that betrayed me in my mind. I was taught how to survive on the street without help or a reputation, something the Syndicate would likely regret teaching me. I swung open the door to a back alley bar called The Oyster. As gay as it sounded, it was a straight bar and I was a good customer. The owner owed me a favor or two. Couple of times the usual crowd would get a bit… rowdy. Course being the guy that I am I kindly pounded their faces in and left there to dry out a bit.

I swayed back and forth and left to right as I made my way down the alley. I was lucky they'd cleaned the wounds so I didn't attract any unwanted attention. I pushed the door open and looked at the Bartender. Her light frame, red hair and usual half smile betrayed that she was one of the most feared girls of old town. Word on her was that she sliced a mob bosses nuts off and fed them to him. Her name was Freya after some dusty old god that didn't exist in a world of money and power.

"Kirra," She said looking at me, "Little early."

I muttered something that didn't come out of my throat, I just made a blood bubble.

"Jesus Christ!" She shouted and hopped over the bar without making more sound then the wind.

The next couple of minutes were blurred. I think I was being pampered and there were some phone calls to people I didn't know.

"Oh you poor bastard…" She said laying me lightly on the bar with more grace then a fork lift.

"O' Callahan's coming so you oughta be fine." She said looking at me from an overview.

O' Callahan was the owner of this piece of shit establishment that I was laying in. I should be more grateful, the guy was a pretty good surgeon and he fixed up anyone that needed fixing. I didn't sit happy with him when he'd pull out a bullet that I'd put there but I dropped that prejudice as soon as those two hot streaks of lead popped my lungs like blisters. The doors opened and I looked over at a greasy hair, walking, talking, and breathing stick. Michael "Mike" O' Callahan.

"Jesus Fucking Christ…" He muttered looking at me, "you're fuckin' lucky that I Fucking owed you, you son of a bitch."

Not only was Mike a good surgeon in a pinch, he was also known to be able to string the word Fuck into just about anything. I rolled my eyes as best I could to the comment; I was still a bit on the delirious state of mind.

"Freya, get this piece of shit up to the couch in my office," He ordered, "And get some towels too!"

The frail looking bartender with the strength of an Amazon lifted my rather limp body up the stairs. She rested me against a wall which I did my best to stay leaned up on and lined the couch with towels. I slowly dragged my ass over and threw it onto the couch flat on my stomach. I could hear O' Callahan cursing and bitching about having to take care of guys like me. I was glad he was in a happy mood too.

He came up about 4 minutes later. From what I could tell he'd gotten his 'tools' which consisted of thread, a needle, a pair of coke bottle bottoms considered glasses and a brew. He quickly chugged the brew and put his glasses on. The wounds were still in shock so I didn't feel him pulling the skin closed. While he patched me up like a torn pin cushion, I lay quietly thinking about that son of a bitch.

Renveau, it'll be a good day when that bastard is met with a gun shot to the head. I do want to see that son of a bitch's look when I bring that pistol to his head and pull back the hammer. My dream quickly shifts to him on his knees begging for his dirty, pathetic, cowardly life and I play the total hardass that I am. Mentally I pulled the trigger and laughed silently as his blood stained that carpet he loved. It looked like hobo rags sewn together.

"Alright lad, you're Fucking tip top in my eyes." O' Callahan laughed.

I prayed that he wouldn't hit me in the back, I was wrong when I felt the giant piece of meat he called a hand smacked my spine. I hacked up blood seconds after word in a trashcan. Once my blood donation was done and finished I made my way downstairs, tripping on a few steps here and there. I was still seeing spots and further more I couldn't walk a straight line even if my ass depended on it.

"Looks like the fuck'll be okay..." O' Callahan said, "Freya! I'm going back to my flat, don't tell any fucker about this or I'll kill ya!"

"Alright Mike, jeez." Freya answered.

O' Callahan slammed the door behind him and I sat down in a booth on the side. Freya somersaulted gracefully over the bar and sat down in a stool.

"So DJ, how've things been?" Freya asked.

"Peachy..." I snapped.

"So are you going to play twenty questions or are you going to tell me who decided to try an make you into swiss cheese?" Freya smirked.

"Renveau," I uttered, "Son of a bitch shot Marty and Me. I wish they'd finished the job if I thought it were going to be this hard."

"Shut your pie hole ass." Freya said cutting him off, "Where the Fuck did that Killer Kirra bullshit go? What did it like drain out of you along with that blood of your's?"

I shook my head, "I don't know. I guess I'm thinking out loud but now the more I think about it, the worse it seems."

I looked up just in time to stop the miller lite bottle with my face. My back hit the booth and the bullet holes underneath as well. Beer leaked all over my face and the bottle rolled onto the floor beneath the table.

"Alright, cut this bullshit, it's Fucking sickening." Freya answered, "If I didn't know what you could do I'd've beat the shit out of you for simply being an ass. Grow a pair would you!"

I shook my head sending the beer onto the walls, "You bitch!" I cursed, that little bottle had to have left a welt on my head, I could feel it growing.

She got up off the bar stool and looked me in the eyes like a devil, "What're you going to do about you whiny little bastard? You don't have the stones to even talk bad to me."

I got up out of the booth and looked at her with seething hatred, "You..."

I threw a punch that was deflected like it was nothing and was met with a right hook that could be confused with a car running me over. I hit the bar floor with my face and fell limp.

"Like I said, you don't have the stones." Freya said rubbing her fist.

She wasn't an ordinary woman; I just found that out with the punch I just took. She grabbed the back of my collar and lifted me up off the floor and the ground. She let me dangle there for second then threw me to the bench again.

"Are you a woman?" I asked laughing.

She huffed in response, "I'll just pretend you're a guy."

With that comment said, I just lay there and started turning the cogs in my head. I'm doing this for all those sons of bitches that're misunderstood or blamed for shit that wasn't under their control but had the nuts to take the responsibility. I was going to kill that Fucker even if I had to die myself.

"Thanks for the wake up call Freya…" I said.


	3. Rock the System

Disclaimer: I did not make Sin City, or the Characters. They respectfully belong to Frank Miller and Dark Horse comics. Also, any characters I come up with that are mentioned in any of the comics, you can guess are mine.

Foreword from the Author: Chapter 3, I'm surprised to be honest. I didn't think I'd actually get noticed too much, but now with it at the mature rating I doubt everyone will be eyeing my fic as much as others. Regardless! ONWARD!

Sin City  
Dirty White Lies  
Chapter Three: Rocking the System

* * *

I sat quietly in my seat. Only the sound of my breathing broke the fragile silence. I stared at the semi-automatic Colt .45 M1911. The nickel plating showed the eye-sore that was my reflection. I picked up the gun and put it in my pants and opened the door.

It'd been two weeks since I was shot. Word on the street was that I was a dead man. That Renveau bastard even had the stones to pay for Marty's and my funeral. Out of humor I went to it disguised as best I could. The Irony of the situation overcame the sheer hatred I had for the Man who was putting on the worst act of caring I'd seen since gunning down a lone shark a few years ago. What a crock of shit that bastard was. The destruction of his empire was going to be the greatest thing I ever had on my record. I would probably be put up for a recommendation for the key to the city.

I laughed at the memory and threw on a jacket. First I had to pull myself back up on my own strength, and then I had to start throwing a monkey wrench into the plans, then most of all I had to avenge Marty and kill that fat pig. The look of him begging for his life made me smile all over again.

I walked out onto the streets of Basin City, somewhere near Trust and 21st. I bumped into a guy and kept walking, once I was a couple more blocks down the road I ducked into an Alley and removed the freshly jacked Wallet. I checked the ID and memorized the name. Edgar Rufus. Lame in my opinion but who cares right? I took out the 75 he had in cash and the Visa Platinum as well.

It took me an hour to a Jewelry store. The place was nice, definitely a top notch sort of place that rich and the fake rich would spend a crap load just to have a hunk of metal that looked good.

"Hello sir…"

I turned around and looked at the salesclerk, he half backed off at my rather ratty looking complexion.

"Do you have any Rolexes?" I inquired with a rather snobbish accent.

It was the standard fake, you walk into a place that's rich, act rich. Demand bullshit and they'll believe you one of Sin City's privileged if there even was a class like that.

"Yes we do, we have the top notch of the line. Are you interested?" He asked.

Salesmen, the lowest form of scum on the earth, these guys could pass up some of the most heartless killers in the Syndicate without trying.

"Let's skip the formalities. I want three of the best. Top of the line, price is no issue. If I am swindled I'll have a talk your boss are we clear?" I answered.

I'd struck a sound blow to his confidence; he crumbled like a house of cards in a wind storm, "Y-yes sir."

He pulled out three watches; One silver and two gold ones. Not bad, but way too much flash for my taste.

"I'll take all three of them." I said.

The man nodded and rang them up. The total came to 7,823.57; which is enough for someone to get weeks worth of pussy in Old Town. But I wasn't aiming for Pussy; that'd be an added bonus if I found it.

I stepped out with the watches in my pocket and made my way towards a rather shady part of town. The Pawn shop door creaked as I stepped in. The owner turned his head and eyed me.

"You here to sell or buy?" he said rudely.

"Sell." I replied shortly.

He raised an eyebrow and then I held up three pieces of valuable metal. I walked out of the Pawn shop with 10,000 dollars; obviously the guy was not one for detail. I stuffed the hundreds in my pocket and got myself a taxi. I came back to the Bar and sat down on a stool.

Freya came over, dressed to kill as always, "So how'd it go?"

I removed the wad of bills and smiled, "Like Clockwork."

"Very nice, what was the scam?"

"Simple snatch and grab, buy the goods, and then pawn the stuff." I answered.

She nodded, "Easiest way to clean money."

I spent the rest of the day in the bar upstairs in O' Callahan's office. The gun in hand and a smile fit for a psycho on my face. I was on my feet again, now it was time to start drawing the web.

The phone rang on O' Callahan's desk. I picked it up and sandwiched it between my ear and shoulder.

"Hello?"

"Kirra, you fuckin' bastard." O' Callahan snapped.

"What's up man?" I said with a sigh.

"Damn bastard's down stairs, he's lookin' tah kill someone." O' Callahan explained poorly.

"Can't Freya handle it?" I asked.

"I gave 'er the Night off. Now get down 'ere and 'andle this bastard."

I put the phone back on the handle and got my gun; could never be too careful with people, especially drunk people in Sin City. I walked down the stairs slowly and stepped out behind the bar.

"I swear there oughta be a law against you assholes that serve this shit that you call Whiskey!"

It was a guy from out of town, and I hated tourists. To blend in they overly bitched and complained more then the usual drunks and saps.

"Hey buddy, mind toning it down?" I said politely.

The guy whipped around and looked me in the eyes like I had just insulted his lineage or something, "What'd you call me you piece of dog shit?"

I rolled my eyes, "I said, tone it down or I'll have to throw you out."

"I ain't going nowhere! It's a free country!" He answered.

"Not in this bar it isn't." I shot back, "Now I'm giving you your last warning. Shut up before I have to bust you up something fierce."

"Bite me you little prick…" He replied.

I gave him the three strikes, and he just struck out. I never minded beating a tourist up but I never did sit well with it till just when my fist crushed his nose like a toothpick. Blood sprayed onto the floor and the guy hit the ground. He rolled onto his stomach and looked at me. I punted him in the face sending him crashing into the tables.

"What the fucker you doin'? Take it outside!" O' Callahan shouted.

I shook my head in annoyance and grabbed the guy by the collar and dragged his ass outside. I gave him a fair chance by standing him back on his two feet. Then I put it to my favor by sending a fist to his left temple. He hit the ground out cold, his nose leaking blood onto the pavement. It really was a sad sight. The guy probably didn't even want to fight, but I did warn him so I didn't have guilt for it. Back inside the bar became a little quieter until I went back upstairs and sat down at O' Callahan's desk.

The noise died down at around 3 o' clock in the morning. By now there was enough liquor in the bladders to keep people out till around seven or so. I rolled onto the Couch and closed my eyes. O' Callahan had probably gone home so I had the place all to myself. Sleep took me quick and the dream was as splendid as usual.

"Please god! I'm sorry! I was wrong! PLEASE SPARE MY LIFE!" Renveau pleaded.

I smiled and lit a cigarette, "Well Jean. You fucked me over hard; you put to holes in my lungs and left me to die in a dumpster. You had the fucking balls to give Marty and Me a funeral. In all aspects I see nothing wrong with dumping you in battery acid and have a shot while you scream in pain."

"DJ! Please, show compassion! I was always good to you, I never was mean to you! I practically thought you as a son of mine!" Renveau cried.

"Save it you blubbering pile of cat vomit," I said cutting him off, I took a drag on my cigarette, "I don't think I'll kill you…"

A light of hope gleamed in his eyes; I smiled wickedly, "too horribly." I added on.

He squealed in protest and begged and pleaded, and then I knocked him out with a pistol whip to the face. I lugged his sorry ass all the way up to the roof taking the stairs to make sure his head hit every single step. The wind blew through my hair as I opened the door. 75 floors of concrete; one helluva long drop. I patted Renveau on the face and stared him in the eyes.

"Hello again." I laughed.

"What're you going to do?" He asked.

"Oh, I think I'll see if I can hit you're Porsche from here." I said still laughing.

His eyes grew wide as walked over to him and lifted him up by his collar. He squirmed and tried fighting the inevitable drop. I walked with him dangling in my grip to the edge and hung him over.

"Buh bye!" I yelled as I hawked him off the roof.

I woke up just as he hit the Porsche face first shattering the glass like a bomb going off in the car. A smile curled onto my face and I made sure to remember the dream for inspiration.


	4. Sure Fire Plan

Disclaimer: I did not make Sin City, or the Characters. They respectfully belong to Frank Miller and Dark Horse comics. Also, any characters I come up with that are mentioned in any of the comics, you can guess are mine.

Foreword from the Author: Ah yes, moving right up in the story. Oddly enough I'm ahead of my regular update schedule. I blame it on love of writing and interest in my own stories. Can't help but write things that appeal to you regardless of the subject matter. I won't go into specifics or we'll be here for 5 pages talking about bullshit that's more opinionative then a politician trying to save face.

Sin City  
Dirty White Lies  
Chapter Four: Sure Fire Plan

* * *

I put my shoe up and grabbed the loose laces hanging. The money I'd gotten from the Rolex's had definitely set me up on my feet. Some clothes, a nice USP Tactical; good gun, very accurate, packs a wallop. But now that my financial situation was more stable, it was killing time. Before I could even so much as touch Renveau, I had to massage the bastard a little bit then bring his life crashing down like the Basin City Bridge back in '58.

Freya caught me just before I made my way out the door and asked me a very simple question, "What're you going to do now?"

"Money's set, now it's killing time." I informed her, "And tonight, Renveau is about to lose a valued man in his little organization."

I walked out the door, USP in a holster at my side. I put on my sun glasses and tinted the world a shade darker and kept walking. The rain was pouring down in sheets and my rain coat, as nice as it was, was still getting a little moist underneath.

As the rain tried to shower the city, I started reviewing prior knowledge of my mark, Mark Gerald Aski. I know stupid name huh? Regardless of personally thought, the guy was as ruthless as the next criminal asshole he had brains though and was as clever as a fox. I won't go and say I was better then him, far from it. I could glad hand my way out of a bad situation but, Aski was light-years ahead. I was with him when he got people to put their guns down by simply asking them politely to take them out of his face. Mark Aski wasn't a very threatening character like some of Renveau's other mutants; he could pass off for a paper pushing, needle dick that had trouble getting it up without chemical help. No, Aski was quick, quick and smart. Getting to this guy wasn't the easiest thing in the world. He saw around corners and pondered security and the extent it went. I wouldn't be the least surprised if the lily livered cocksucker lived in a bunker at night.

I stepped over a puddle and walked across the street. The one thing this so called brainiac of Renveau's operation did wrong was consistency. He came to the same place every morning at 9 A.M. It was a small coffee shop with a senile old man who he had no relation, just off the main stretch near the safe house that Renveau hid his cash. He'd stop in and order the same double shot cappuccino with mocha. Spend exactly 7 minutes drinking it with a crueler and then it was off to unknown dark alleys littering Sin City like a bad case of acne.

I stepped into the shop and grabbed myself a donut. The old guy was nice enough, not a care in the world. Not until I'd put a bullet into his best customer's head and covered his shop in a nice uneven coat of Crimson. I bit into the frosted chocolate donut and waited quietly. The door bell rang quietly and I checked my watch; 9:00 A.M. on the dot: Party time.

"Hey Erza. Just the regular." Mark said softly.

"No problem, sir." The old man said digging around in the back.

I smiled and started walking towards the counter and stood right next to the guy. He looked over at me and smiled quietly. Poor bastard didn't recognize my, he would, no doubt about that. I put the gun up to his kidney and looked over at him.

He looked over at me surprised, "Oh my…"

"Hello Mark. Long time." I said smiling.

"Kirra!" He uttered quietly, "Jesus! I heard you were dead!"

"I am. For a little while longer anyway." I replied biting into the donut again.

"You know this is suicide killing me." Mark begged.

I loved it when I snapped people who were either playing Billy Badass or were Billy Badass. Mark knew I'd pull that trigger without hesitating, another little by-product of killing human beings.

"Suicide in your eyes, but not mine." I corrected, "You're going to be the note I leave for Renveau to tell him his boys should've finished the job in the first place."

I grabbed his collar and dragged him into men's bathroom and put the gun to the back of his head, "Any last request?"

"One, I never did like Renveau, so kill him for me." Mark said with a tear.

I pulled the trigger and put the bullet in his head, "Spots taken… you can thank Renveau for that too."

The body flopped to the ground, the head still intact, minus a hole big enough to stare through. I took a plastic bag out of my jacket pocket and put it over the head. Now came the clean up and delivery.

* * *

It was 10 A.M. in the morning; the phone on my ivory night stand was ringing. My people understood never to call me unless it was a grave emergency. With Kirra out of the way, there shouldn't have been an Emergency. Probably some false alarm or some stupid fucking thing like that.

I reached over and picked up the receiver, "Hello?"

"Mr. Renveau…" it was Jennifer, my assistant out in the front desk.

"This had better be important." I said grouchily.

I heard her voice break for a moment, "Aski is dead; he's hanging by his tie."

"Suicide?" I said waking up, this was sudden and unexpected.

"No, his head has a hole in it. I-I can see through it!" Jennifer cried.

"I'll be over, just calm the fuck down." I answered, "And don't call the police under any circumstances till I get there."

Jesus fucking Christ. What kind of cocksucker had the fucking balls to whack one of my guys? I knew no one with that much brass. The Corelli's might've had a couple of hit men with that kind of stone but they didn't know my organization, I kept names anonymous with everyone. It was rare I called people that weren't on a secure line and even then it was nothing important. It had to be an insider, someone who thought I was getting weak or something. It had to be. No one knew my operation other then the people in it. Something stank in this, like a skunk covered in three day old cottage cheese.

My Limo driver started the engine and we rolled out of my drive and off towards the cess pit known simply as Sin City. The place was horrible, nothing but drunks, hookers, drug addicts. The corruption of America all packed in a tiny little place like this. I hated Sin City, the smell, the look, the people, the places. It was like some ugly deformed person staring at me in the face everyday. But sadly, I had to use this poor deformed slob to make money. Money in all the forms that I'd previously listed above.

The streets were wet from the rain that must've come down earlier. We pulled up to the office building and I got out of the Limo and started up the steps taking them one by one deliberately. It was when I was two steps away that my blood ran a little chillier and my gut turned.

Mark Aski hung by his neck with a collapsed head. His suit was blood stained and his neck had gone purple from where he'd been hanging by his neck. I couldn't believe my eyes. I knew this man hanging here by his neck but as I came closer something much finer came into view. I pulled it off his suit jacket and read it. I'd had suspicions in my own company, but now, now I knew and it couldn't have been any worse if I was the one hanging by my neck up there.

DJ Kirra, that son of a bitch that I'd had whacked weeks ago. My best hit man, he was alive and well and obviously out to get me. I know he knew everything in my company, all the Dirty White Lies, all the blood shed. It couldn't have been any worse. This god damn super hitman was out walking the streets and he was very pissed at me. If he wanted to play it like that, I'd gladly oblige and bury this son of a bitch in a hail of bullets.

But I a nagging piece of self doubt seemed to gnaw my mind, what if he got me first? What if? I quickly smacked it out of my head and got serious. There's no way I'd ever let a punk piece of trash like DJ take me down, even if I'd shown him everything this company did.


	5. One Cop, Two Cop

Disclaimer: I did not make Sin City, or the Characters. They respectfully belong to Frank Miller and Dark Horse comics. Also, any characters I come up with that aren't mentioned in any of the comics, you can guess are mine.

Foreword from the Author: Ah yes, I'm getting ahead of myself but damnit I love how this is working out. It's like a bitchy, action filled noir story with some rather lame sarcasm involved. Rolls his eyes. Anyway, it's nice to see the Sin City Section pick up, pity I'll not be seen by most of the general public because of my rating. Shrugs Ain't no thing though, because I'm still writing, so what's the problem?

Sin City  
Dirty White Lies  
Chapter Five: One Cop, Two Cop

* * *

It was starting to get dark on the way back to the Bar. So far things had gone to plan. Renveau and his little syndicate boys had been working around the clock to find me. I didn't mind the fact that I couldn't be seen around the upper north side. The place had enough appeal to me as a steamy shit sandwich. A hand grabbed my shoulder and on reflex I reached back for the arm attached to it. The barrel of a revolver pressed up against the back of my spine and I heard the trigger pull back. Ah shit…and things were going so well.

"DJ Kirra. Huh, I could've sworn you were dead."

"Officer Richards, nice to know you're still able to walk as silent as a graveyard." I responded.

I felt Officer Richards give me that smug look of his, "Still has the wit too."

"Skip the bullshit." I answered shortly.

"Word on the street is you capped Mark Aski. This true?"

"You want me to go before a judge and tell you? Because I won't otherwise."

Richards spun me around and looked at me, "You think I'm going to just arrest you because you killed some sleazy accountant who worked for you're ex-boss. Come on DJ, you know cops better then that."

"You're right, I do. I know them as corrupt, morally challenged and last I remember wife beaters too." I said recollecting.

Richards' lip rose in a spike of anger, I just hit every cop's soft spot. A couple months ago, a two-bit hero cop named Jack Rafferty, or Iron Jack, was killed in Old Town. The cops had no proof and the truce stayed up. I of course was still working with Renveau when it happened. He sent me out that very next night to go handle some cocks on the edge of our territory that'd just killed some of our guys. Anyway, after the whole death and mourning of that belittled piece of shit, some anonymous bastard stepped forward and told of how he used to beat up people. There was the typical public out cry and such; I didn't pay much attention, too wrapped up in work.

"That was a low blow." Richards said in a low tone.

"Yep, I know that, it doesn't change the fact that cops seem to be nasty pieces of work." I said crossing my arms, "So what do you want anyway Richards, I've shit to do, other then chat with you."

Richards holstered his .38 six-inch Smith and Wesson and looked down at the ground, "Truth is DJ, after Renveau capped you and declared you dead, the cops got worried. So far, you were just a little minor annoyance killing all the loser punks that seemed to haunt these shit bars and fucked neighborhoods. But after the news, we wondered who they would hire. If it was some fucked up mad dog killer, truth be told, we'd be in trouble with corpses popping up night and day with no end in sight."

"I see where you're coming from. So what do you want me to do about it? Hold your hand?" I asked.

Richards shook his head in a no, "No DJ, I came here to offer a truce and a bargain."

I raised an eyebrow at that, I knew the cops were corrupted and twisted, and the only truce they had been with Old Town because that was a place you couldn't win in. But a truce with my ass, I didn't believe.

"What the fuck're you talking about Richards?" I asked.

"I saying, we'll get off your back if you help us out." Richards said.

My eye narrowed in skepticism, still seemed fishy, "So you want me to kill Renveau?"

"Exactly, that fat fuck has had us by the balls and is using us like a baseball bat to knock out his competition. All the others are getting sick of it, including the chief of police and District Attorney. Since you seem to be on the high road to revenge, we want you to kill him, in exchange; you're exempt from any crime you commit in the process including the murder." Richards explained.

"So I've amnesty to all criminal actions if I kill Renveau, you guys must have it out for him." I said.

"You've no clue. This bastard has threatened to kill our families if we even dare cross him or back talk; he's holding us hostages in a sense." Richard said breathing hard.

I might've been a cold bastard but I had my limits. They stopped at Families; women and children weren't involved, and they should never ever be. Even mentioning that they'd be harmed was low, even in the criminal world. One time, a guy named Dick Ferzelli whacked a kid because he wanted to get back at this guy for doing something to him. Out of sheer anger, I decided it was high time I showed that it wasn't smart to do that kind of shit. I broke into the guy's apartment and stuck his head in the stove and broiled his ass. Nobody asked me what happened to Dick Ferzelli after I killed him, they knew in the back of their minds what happened.

"Now Richards, if you're bullshitting, in anyway, I swear that I'll come back for you and turn your wife into a widow. That is my word." I said darkly.

"I don't bullshit about Families, especially innocent ones." Richards said.

I knew he wasn't lying, I could tell, he'd been telling the truth the whole time. His eyes never ever pulled off from me. The call sign of it was, if he looked above you, he wasn't telling the truth, if he looked to the ground for more then a few seconds, he was lying as well. He'd only stared at the ground for maybe one second tops, and that was because the subject was personal.

"Alright Richards, you better keep up your end of the bargain." I said.

He grabbed my hand and squeezed it, "You do this and we'll forgive you for all of it."

"Get off me man, I got my own personal reasons for nailing this son of bitch, but your assistance is appreciated." I said.

Richards said goodbye and left me standing there all alone. So far Renveau was becoming more and more of a jackass as my little crusade went farther along. Amazing as it was, I still had to climb farther up the shit tree. At the top was Renveau, one branch down was Doctor Levi, Pa Jennings and Me but I was kicked out of the tree.

Doctor Levi was an ex-plastic surgeon turned Hitman. All he did was kill people, and he was good at it. His logic was cold as ice, and his methods were more than questionable. I would know, that son of a bitch was sick in the mind. He'd kill people in their sleep using his fingers. He'd duct tape people's mouths shut and cut their throats. I know he cut off their noses sometimes and kept them as a collection. He'd take teeth as well. Taking him down would be a nasty, nasty job in its own.

Pa Jennings, a.k.a. The Shotgun Assassin. The guy used a shotgun kinda like a swordsman used a Katana. So far the guy had 27 notches on his barrel. His MO was to break into the room and get you from behind. That was his calling card. As lame as it was, he was the best of the three of us. He put that Roark Bastard's pet, Kevin, I believe, to shame. He knew the building plans; he memorized them and made sure to know the exits and quick routes. The cops knew he existed and they knew what he did, but they'd have about a good of a chance catching him as they did big foot.

Then of course there was me. Now since I began this little narrative, I never told who I was. I'll leave it to a couple of paragraphs considering I'm not writing a damn autobiography here.

I was born and raised in Basin City. The bastard son of some low life, I lived, breathed, and ate on the streets. I learned at a young age, you had to kill to live and that's exactly what I did. I never got a thrill out of it, unlike some of the other sick bastards in my line of work. I never knew my mother either; she ditched my ass as well because I bet she couldn't handle it.

My teenage life wasn't as shitty as my childhood. I was picked up by some small time thieves and low life street brawlers. The little lost boys were the gang name and it wasn't any farther from the truth. Half the guys were retired lone sharks or drunkards. This was where I quote, unquote lost my virginity. I learned the ways of the street. The pulse, the feel, the flow of the city. I no longer was some ratty looking snot nosed kid as much as I was a tough as nails street punk. My mentor, Devlin Jack Kirra was one of the guys' right hand men. He taught me a lot about the arts of stealing and robbing. I picked up my street fighting from around town learning the ropes as I went.

I later took on the name, DJ Kirra to pay respect to Devlin. He truly was my father figure in all the shit that I'd dealt with. It wasn't until I was 19 that I learned the Lost Boys were being taken by the fat fucker of the north simply called Renveau. The French bastard had figured to move his territory farther south despite the dangers of moving in on our territory. Now we held out for weeks again that son of bitch, the hit men were always the most feared things of his empire but we were never scared.

It was around week number four that things went wrong. Renveau sent, after I found out much later, Doctor Levi to take care of our leader. He did it with flying colors and we never knew what hit us. The whole week was put to shit as they started getting more and more heat and we started losing more and more guys. Then the worst decision they made was killing Devlin Jack Kirra; my father, my mentor, my friend. It was then that I declared all out war on Renveau. I killed, I maimed, and I destroyed. I sent throats back up north in boxes, I sent fingers in envelops.

I got the nickname Killer Kirra after I tore off a man's jaw and beat him to death with it. The name stuck and it soon became the truth. The fact of the matter was, I didn't stop, which was a mistake, after they'd quit coming. I took the fight to Renveau's doorstep and showed him exactly what it meant to fuck with me. I was too foolish to guess I'd overstepped my bounds and then of course my life went to shit. One week after I took the fight to Renveau, he sent enough thugs after me to topple an empire and I was nabbed like a treasure.

He promised to leave my corner of the city alone if I worked for him. Since I was a stupid self-sacrificing bastard back then, I said yes and agreed. He didn't waste much time in burning the whole stinking place down, and I watched. I owed Renveau a lot, more payback then he ever knew with enough hatred to put myself in a mental home for eons. Now though, it seems Renveau's dark little secrets were coming out, all because I was going to kill him like some bastard dog that'd just bit its master. Renveau in my eyes, was dead already.


	6. Gunfight at the OK Hotel

Disclaimer: I did not make Sin City, or the Characters. They respectfully belong to Frank Miller and Dark Horse comics. Also, any characters I come up with that aren't mentioned in any of the comics, you can guess are mine.

Foreword from the Author: Hello boys and Girls. I had the rather sour luck to get Diarrhea last night. But I took some pepto and I'm all set. So people, on with zee show and more to the point, the story too, watch your show later.

Sin City  
Dirty White Lies  
Chapter Six: Gunfight at the O.K. Hotel

* * *

The Bar was rather smoky tonight, well more Smokey then usual. I sat quietly on the stool nursing my scotch while cycling through the people I'd talked to in the last few days. Mark Aski, Renveau's accountant and overall dead man; I didn't feel much pity for the guy. Officer Richards, his Family being held hostage in a sense by Renveau so he'll do Renveau's dirty work. So far Renveau wasn't as well liked as he was more feared, didn't surprise me, the guy could've won the douche awards blind folded with one arm tied behind his back.

Freya walked over and poured the shot glass full for me again, "Bad images?"

I didn't recognize her speaking and kept looking at the faces. She shook my shoulder, "DJ? Come on man you're scarin' me."

I looked up and shook the memories free of my head, "Sorry, what's going on?"

Freya shook her head and walked off uttering something that sounded awfully like sad. I took a sip of the liquor and put my head down.

"Hey buddy?" A guy groaned, of all things, I just wanted to sit quietly but obviously some dumb ass drunkard wanted to tell me about how shitty his life was, oh joy.

He shoved me back and forth; I looked over at him and rubbed my face, "Yeah."

"Some dude wanted me to give you this." He said handing me a small box wrapped in brown shipping paper and twine.

He got up and walked away leaving me sitting there with probably the stupid look on my face. I pulled the twine off and tore the paper open. There was a sole ticket to see a concert; the 5 6 7 8's in the Olympic Hotel ballroom. A non-formal occasion. I lifted it up and looked at the bottom, written in nice handwriting was 'Don't be late'. I put it back in the box and leaned back a minute rolling the idea over in my head. I checked the ticket again, it was scheduled for tonight at 9.

I looked at the clock in the bar, half pasted 8 and I had no date, nothing to do and two shots of scotch in my gut. Nothing like a good concert, I said to myself and started out the bar. I wasn't too scared, I still had that .45 USP in the back of my pants and I know it was loaded and ready to kill. The night air was getting frigid, winter was on its way and old Jack Frost was going to be taking a chunk out of my nose again.

I got in the cab and rode it to the Olympic Hotel up on 114th and Trust. Not a bad spot for the middle-upper class citizens of Basin City. I blended in well enough with my leather jack and cargo pants. I handed the bellhop the ticket and he checked it on a list.

"Mr. Kirra, we've been expecting you. Please follow me to your seat." The Bellhop said.

I raised an eyebrow, why the hell would the guy want to escort me to my seat? Ah well, seemed nice enough. He sat me down at a table fit for 6 people, I knew well enough to take my gun out of my pants now and wait. I checked the clock, 8:50, ten minutes to show time. I ordered a drink and sat back in the padded dining chair. Not surprised by the usual people in here, I did catch one crazy blonde chick wearing a yellow jumpsuit with a black stripe running up each side of her. She seemed familiar but I didn't ask. With five minutes to go I was starting to get impatient, I just wish the assholes who bought me this ticket would show up already.

"Looking good for a dead man Kirra."

My stomach rolled over and exposed its ass to the world in disgust, "Renveau's sad little hitmen. My, oh my you boys must be cannon fodder to be showing up to take me down." I taunted.

The two guys sat down across from me, neither had the mind to check me for a weapon. The one of the left was Nathan Koenig, a rather sad excuse for a hitman, botching more of his hits then killing them. I had to clean up one of his messes up a few years ago; he actually had to kill the guy with an elevator door because he forgot to pack an extra clip and ran out of bullets.

The guy on the right, Samuel Adam. His nick name was the Keg. He bragged that he was related to the beer making company, I just figured him for some dumb bastard who had parents who'd thought it be funny to name their son after a beer. Sadly enough the guy was about one step shot from liver failure and I know he was going to be put down sooner or later. I hated having to kill Renveau's guys, specially the one's you buy as Hitmen R' Us from the bargain bin. Regardless of the two rather lame backgrounds, they were still hitmen and I still had to kill them. Ah well, guess shame and guilt'll have to wait till later.

"So Kirra, how come you decided to get the berries to whack Aski? Hmm?" Nathan said smiling like he had the situation under control; the guy couldn't control his bladder, especially when I pointed this .45 in his face.

"I just figured I'd show Renveau it wasn't bright to whack one of his top hitmen and think it'd be okay." I answered truthfully.

"I think you should apologize for the grief you gave Mr. Renveau." Samuel replied putting the gun in plain day; what a fucking rookie.

"Oh my, you've a gun and a beer gut, I'm quaking." I responded, "Forgive me if I don't bite my fingernails in terror."

"Always was a cocking son-of-a-bitch." Nathan said to Samuel, "I agree." Samuel replied.

I shook my head and chuckled, "You two going to hold hands as you pull the triggers?"

The two both shot me sour looks, "Shall we?" Nathan said asking Samuel.

"Any requests before we drill you Kirra?" He asked.

"One; let me at least listen to one song from this band that you gave me the tickets for." I said.

Samuel looked at Nathan and nodded, "I suppose we can do that for someone in your stature."

While the pair of dumbasses told each other jokes I watched the curtain rise. The band which was comprised of three very skimpy dressed oriental women. Two guitars and one set of drums. They started up and it went crazy from there. They were like a Neo-beach boy's esque style, not too bad either.

"Hey!" I called from across the table as the band started rocking the joint.

Samuel and Nathan looked up. Under the table while the two bastards were chatting I'd put my nice silencer on. I pulled the gun from the table and pointed it at Samuel's head and pulled the trigger. The sound was inaudible over the band and the silencer and Samuel collapsed to the table. I snatched the brass from mid air and aimed for Nathan who stood paralyzed with fright, the two idiots honestly though I was unarmed. I pulled the trigger and caught the brass in a napkin and smiled as Nathan plopped down next to his buddy.

I put the gun back in my coat and grabbed the two and dragged them out into the lobby. Samuel le fat ass was starting to cramp my arm as soon as we got into the bathroom. I sat the two in the stalls and locked the doors to each of them. They'd find them in the morning with jack shit for evidence, not that I'd get arrested anyway. Fitting way to end it for these two, their buddies could just say they were outclassed by a much better hitman; me. I walked out of the bathroom and felt a cold chill run down my spine as I eyed the crowd.

There must've been 5 guys coming my way, armed and ready. Fuck, I guessed that Baron von Gluten and Nathan were alone, my mistake, not to happen again. I again had to pull the pistol from my pocket; I removed the silencer and aimed for the first one. At the sight of my drawing a weapon the guys panicked and pulled out theirs as well.

"EVERYBODY DOWN!" I shouted.

I had reasons to scream this, last thing I needed was someone death on the 5 o' Clock news tomorrow morning with my face plastered up on the damn reel. The guys stared in aw as the crowd hit the floor like they were told, first one was a freebie. I aimed and pulled the trigger. The boom caused the women to scream; I tuned that out fair quick as the rest snapped out of their stupor and started shooting.

I strafed out of the way of three bullets and caught none, lucky me. I aimed and fired putting another bullet between the eyes. 3 guys to go. The three seeing another of their posse dropping like a fly started backing away. Fear was an excellent advantage. I rushed for the nearest dead body and grabbed his pistol. Things were going to get ugly now. One started for the stairs, I aimed one pistol from under my forearm and fired nailing him in the spine, instant death or parallelization till I had to go stone cold on him. The other two seeing no choice started firing at me. I crossed my forearms into an X and fired my guns. The bullets struck dead on in the sternum and the last to hit the ground flat on their backs.

I started walking towards the first one who moaned, I pumped three shots into him nonchalantly. The next one got a bullet to the head and the last one was stiff as a bored and dead as one too. The gunfight was said and done and I didn't kill anyone unnecessary. Maybe I was getting soft but I did have a code of ethics to which I'd adhere to during this little crusade, one would be not to involve anyone unwilling, two would be never to kill anyone unless of course they were killed by someone else. Simple stuff that wasn't too hard to work by. I put my guns away and looked at the crowd.

"It's cool, they're all dead now." I called.

Quietly I walked out of the room and flagged a taxi down. So far this little crusade of mine was getting dangerous to the general populous, it was very stupid of Renveau to try an get me in a public place. Ah well, tomorrow was another day, another day that would put me one step closer to killing that bastard.


	7. Bar Room Assassin

Disclaimer: I did not make Sin City, or the Characters. They respectfully belong to Frank Miller and Dark Horse comics. Also, any characters I come up with that aren't mentioned in any of the comics, you can guess are mine.

Foreward from the Author: Jesus H. Christ has it been a while but I'm back for the moment with two new ones for you. Sorry about my extremely lengthy delay.

Sin City  
Dirty White Lies  
Chapter Seven: Bar Room Assassin

* * *

"Nothing like a good scotch after a battle royal in a hotel and not killing any innocents." I said saluting Freya who had just poured me a shot.

"Amen to that one." Freya said lighting up a cigarette.

I drank the shot; it burned all the way down my throat, invigorating to say the least. I set the glass down and smiled, I think. I never did understand exactly why I picked the strongest stuff in the house but I always enjoyed it regardless. Freya poured me another glass and leaned back on the island in the middle with all the alcohol on it. She took a long drag and shot smoke out to the side avoiding my face.

I looked up rather upset with myself, "Why do I keel pupole?" I slurred. (Translation: Why do I kill people? H.B.)

She nodded, "That is something only you can do." She said, "I think you've had enough now so go up stairs and get some sleep before I twist your arm and force you."

"Alll right.. jeez joo make it zound lick a bah thing." I answered.

* * *

I took another drag on my cigarette as DJ walked upstairs using his head as a cane for the wall. Truth be told I guess I could say I had a soft spot for the guy behind the cold hard killer. Maybe it was the little girl in me wanting to hang out with all the bad guys. I shrugged it off and stood quietly alone in the bar. It was already 4 A.M. and my shift was till 7 so usually I entertained myself by either cleaning my knife collection or using my knife collection. I put the cigarette out in the tray behind the counter and hurdled over the bar top.

In the back room with the closet that that fat fuck O' Callahan called my office was some more personal possessions, namely my old Knife collection that I'd kept from my rather gritty child hood in Old Town. I was an ex-hooker turned Bar Maid. All those nights being next to some drunken sweaty guy or some uptight suit with the pecker the size of a jolly rancher didn't seem to entice me much. Only reason I stayed was because of Dwight, but he left so not long after I decided it high time to walk myself. But getting out of old town isn't as easy as one would think. I didn't walk out easy, they some what tried to keep me. It was after I turned the Triplets into the Twins that they wizened up to my want to leave.

Then I wandered the city looking for work getting dead end jobs with no benefits other then getting me to the next day. Usually bosses didn't like to see Hooker as a previous job and that being said I was not a college grad who just wanted a job on the weekend to pay the bills. Then I met Mike, before he became the unofficial spokesman for fuck you very much, Inc. He was nice back then, a lot slimmer and made a touch nicer. He hired me as barkeep because of my unusual skill and rather nice frame. He liked my ass, which got a lot of his attention if I shook it just right.

Truth be told, I worked Mike's bar for a year before I over heard a couple of low rent thugs talking about a man whom I'd later find out was Renveau. Renveau's little story was rather boring so I pretty much forgot it till a product of Renveau, literally hitman Prodigy walked into the bar and ordered a scotch.

Back then everyone just called him Kirra, nothing more or less. He drank straight scotch which was admirable thing for a guy who looked about 145 maybe 150 and 6 foot nothing. I knew he was packing every time he came in; I saw the bulge on his right side. Not that I didn't always have a spare throwing knife tucked in my pants pocket, just in case the sorry bastard got rowdy. In the past two years he never laid a hand on anyone that didn't deserve a good punch to the face. Usually it was a love tap or something equivalent in force but I could tell the guy had more behind him than he let on. He walked different, ordered different and looked different then the other slobs, perverts and unregistered sex offenders in this bar.

One day I got up the courage to ask his first name, He quickly responded wit DJ and asked me never to speak to him again. I pretended to ignore his little request and tried stirring up conversation. It was the first time I'd ever seen him drink himself to sleep. After that I just left him to himself and his self pity or whatever it was that put him off all the time.

Then of course was that fateful night when he inadvertently showed me what really did eat at him. He blew a man's head clean off without batting an eyelash and dragged the corpse out like a rucksack with a pair of broken wheels. Course Mike threw hell at the guy and was about a half step shy of getting his shotgun and blowing DJ's ass all over the walls. I intervened and told him he'd better watch it or I'd show him why I was the one working the bar.

The sound of a bottle rolling across the floor caused my gaze to pan over to the door. A slinky looking bastard in a trench coat with the look of a crackpot stood in the door way.

"We're closed." I said to him.

"Kirra… I'm looking for Kirra." He muttered barely audible.

"Excuse me?" I said trying to catch the name again to be sure that my gut might rest easy.

The guy looked over at me craning his neck awkwardly; his crooked smile leaked a string of spittle. He was crazy, period end of story. I lowered my hand down under the bar and removed a throwing knife, no make it 5 of them, he looked like he was on PCP or something.

"oooo….. Kirra, Kirra beer, Kirrable." The guy muttered aimlessly, "Till death and we part, Kirra, Terra, Fearra. HAHAHAHAHA!" He cackled.

I didn't waste time; this nut ball had to go. I flicked my wrist and sent two of those edges straight into him, or I thought I did. He yanked the blades out and crunched one of them like a piece of aluminum. My face slacked in awe.

God damnit… I felt the punch send me off my stool. I hit hard on the floor with my shoulder and felt that ever so wonderful pain shoot straight up my joint. I shot up and chucked the other three right at the guy ad sank them all in his juggler. He took them put with his hands and his teeth. He snapped the blade in half instead of chewing it like tin foil and spit the pieces onto the floor. With a spin he threw the knives back. I felt one embed itself in my bicep and the other hissed past my head into the wood behind me.

I heard a thump upstairs; the loon heard it too and looked up at the ceiling. He removed a desert eagle and fired it. The blow back whipped my hair back as the wind hit me. The bullet tore into the ceiling and there was another thud.

* * *

I looked down at the three legged chair that just fell down. Someone downstairs wasn't very happy and he was packing. I could've probably snuck down quiet like had I not fall out of bed. I grabbed my revolver and went quietly over to the trashcan. I leaned over and forced myself to vomit. Nasty reflex but it'd save my liver a whole lot of trouble. The taste of bile still hung in my mouth even after I spit most of it out. I made my way down the stairs gun in hand. Lucky for me O'Callahan didn't stay here in the bar, he had an apartment; he let Freya handle the night shift of 8 to 6. I jumped the last two stairs and froze. How did Renveau find me, which was my first question when I saw Dr. Levi. I thumbed back the hammer of the revolver and fired. It belched out the .44 round and blew through the good doctor backwards. I thumbed back the hammer again as I walked down another step.

Levi knew he'd lost the element of surprised, his tactic usually was killing quietly, this wasn't him MO to come bursting in and killing mindlessly, that was my job. Oh well, I'd sort this out before he bled out from the next slug I'd put in him. He came rushing through the door and fired the gun that he had; a nickel plated Desert Eagle. The bullet bull shot through my baggy unopened over shirt and blew it back. I fired again this time nice and low right at the femoral Artery if I was lucky. The bullet struck the Doc's leg and blew the meat on the left side out like a bomb went off in his leg. He dropped to the ground, he didn't scream. I walked down the rest of the stairs. He looked up at me, the puddle of blood leaking out all over the floor and onto my shoes.

"Kirra… Kirra…Kirra… Kill…Kirra." He said over and over.

I thumbed back the trigger, so much for answers; I fired and blew Dr. Levi's head up like a grenade. Blood spatter flew up all over the walls as the powerful round struck the skull followed by the pressure and heat that detonated his head like a bomb. A whimper made me finally notice Freya in the room. She held a bloody knife in her hand and he arm was bleeding.

"He's dead right." Freya said tossing the knife aside.

I nodded, "He's archives."


	8. Coalition

Disclaimer: I did not make Sin City, or the Characters. They respectfully belong to Frank Miller and Dark Horse comics. Also, any characters I come up with that aren't mentioned in any of the comics, you can guess are mine.

Foreward from the Author: Jesus H. Christ has it been a while but I'm back for the moment with two new ones for you. Sorry about my extremely lengthy delay.

Sin City  
Dirt White Lies  
Chapter Eight: Coalition

* * *

I hate this shit, asking for help. Can't help but feel like I'm taking a cowards way out. I mean, you think someone can handle something like an entire mob out to kill you right? Yeah, I hated the Idea but somewhere in my gut I felt like it was my fault that Freya was in the damn hospital. So yeah, I was going to get help 'cause deep down… I think I'm attracted to her. Always a babe, her cynical view, god it's a perfect package along with that knife throwing bit of hers.

"DJ Fuckin' Kirra! It's been Ages!"

James Sims and Haley Brown; The two criminal minds behind the James Gang. Catchy ain't it? James was the older of the two siblings. Both being adopted, James took the role of big brother and protector of Haley. Haley of course was a fucking mastermind. Any building that needed breaking into, Haley could come up with a plan and implement it. The two of them started a gang together muscling for local bartenders and hustling money. James took most of the beatings gaining the nick name The Immortal. This was earned after he was shot 12 times and laying up in the hospital pronounced dead. James bounced back twelve hours after his death and decided that he oughta check himself out. The fuck was amazing, almost in human when it came to fight. Haley on the other end was considered the Hoody Boy. He wears this Black Hoody, he put some metal plates in it bullet proofing the damn thing, and the pocket in the center has enough guns in it that you know he's packing. Underneath the hoody besides a sawed off and an MP5k was two spare pistols just in case he ran out of ammo.

"Sit down man." Haley said motioning for me to take a sit.

I sat down and looked at him. I knew the first question already.

"I heard about your business with Renveau. Pretty juicy stuff. So what brings you to the southern neck of the woods? I hope the infamous 'Killer' Kirra hasn't lost his touch?" Haley said looking at me.

"I came here cause I could use some help. I know you and James have had it in for Renveau. You want that territory you lost last summer in the gang war. I can give you that if you help me topple this mother fucker."

Haley nodded, "That's a very big shove for me to agree but my question to you is what if I decline."

"Then I go on my merry way, kill Renveau myself and reap all the profits then take your two-bit operation and ram it in the Basin City River." I replied.

You always go hard at the beginning, show that ruthlessness. If they get spooked you got them by the balls. If they counter, easy them out of it or go for the face and take them down.

"DJ, you couldn't ram a pop-scicle stick up your ass if you were bending over and looking into a mirror. Don't feed me that bull shit. Renveau's been after us for years and hasn't gotten any farther then 12th street and that was because you were fucking spear heading that. You spent a month up in county for getting pinched for a hidden weapon." Haley remarked.

"Yeah well one day your big bro won't be around to help you out, Haley."

I heard the clicks of the hammer as it was pulled back. James was already in a bad mood, I knew that from the get-go. He was defensive of Haley and a threat to him is always dumb but I had to risk it. Now it was time to deescalate the situation before I got shot. I had no gun, and even if I did, I couldn't beat James on a draw even if I was the Flash.

"Alright, I overstepped my bounds. Now let's talk business. You want Renveau out, I want Renveau out. The cops are pushing for me; I got a get out of jail free card, amnesty. I get you guys that, will you help me out?"

"Yep. You make it so the cops can't touch our gang in this suicide run and we'll help you. Not prior to this though. You do it; I hook you up with weapons, guns, cars and men. You and James will be more then enough to handle this sort of thing and I'll draw up a plan to tactically take out Renveau systematically." Haley smiled, "James escort Kirra out and afterward you and me will discuss."

James showed me to the door and I let myself out. Now it was simply getting a hold of Richards and setting this whole thing up. Haley and James will tilt the scales in my favor. They imported things off the southern wharfs, drugs, money, guns. They had a nice racket. A thug would pull and Uzi, they'd pull an AK. Good math.

* * *

I went to a nearby pay phone and dumped some change in and dialed 911. I waited till I got the automated response computer and got the directory. It was a simple in out procedure. I finally got to Richards after standing around for 20 minutes looking like an idiot.

"DJ?"

"Yeah it's me." I said rolling my eyes, "Listen, I gotta ask a favor."

"Um… okay what?"

"I got a chance to tip the scales and finally take the fight to Renveau but I need that Amnesty expanded over more then just me."

"I'm not sure I can do that."

"You want Renveau out of the fuckin city or what?"

"Alright, alright. Jeez. Who?"

"James Sims, Haley-."

He cut me off almost immediately, "James Sims and Haley Brown? The leaders of the James Gang of the southern end. Are you fucking nuts?"

"Pretty much, it's the only ace I got Richards, cut me some slack will you?" I said.

"Alright, I'm writing the papers up now. Haley and James' gang, good Christ. Dj you better be right or it's your ass."

"I won't let you down." I said smiling.

I heard the ker-chak immediately and vaulted over the phone booth before the shot tore the whole booth to shreds. I rolled on the cement and looked back. Pa Jenkins, the Shotgun Assassin. Un fucking Believable. No gun on me, which was a mistake and on top of that shit, he's got the advantage of having me on my ass. The blood spray caught me and Pa off guard as crack of the gun shot hit us. The shotgun fell to the ground with him screaming his head off in pain. I watched James lower the rifle and open the chamber and load a fresh bullet in. Pa turned around to see his assailant when James raised the rifle. Parts of his fluffy grey brain matter sprayed onto the street as the 30-06 bullet ripped his head apart like a melon filled with dynamite. I wiped the blood and bone off my face and looked at the dead body.

"You're one cold mother fucker man." I said wiping my cheek.

"He wasn't much better. Pa Jenkins right?" I nodded to his question, "Fucker ghosted one of our hideouts a couple weeks ago, all in the back. So this is just revenge personally."

"Pa was likable enough if you put enough Alcohol in him." I said looking down, "But he'll always be a bitch in my eyes. A kill bitch."

Me and James walked back to the hideout. He told me that Haley wanted me followed to make sure I made the phone call. James had been following farther behind when he saw Pa come out of the alley wielding a shotgun gun. He made him instantly by the way he did it. James had the rifle on his back prior to so if I didn't make the phone call he could ice me off and get away before the cops did something.

* * *

"So?"

"The cops'll do it, you guys are all free to do what you want, SO long as it contributes to taking Renveau down. Piece by piece if possible." I said.

"You heard the man!" Haley shouted, "LET'S GET OURSELVES A RIOT ON OUR HANDS! I want shops cleared out, I need panic in the streets. Everything that's even remotely connected with Renveau, take it out, decommission it, do what ever it takes. Now GO!"

And just like that, our little trinity of power was formed. A coalition to take down Renveau in everyway shape and form, it's amazing that this man had so many Enemies. He knew jack shit about how to keep a ship. Regardless, I needed a drink and I needed to see how Freya was doing.


	9. In a Darkened Room

Disclaimer: I did not make Sin City, or the Characters. They respectfully belong to Frank Miller and Dark Horse comics. Also, any characters I come up with that aren't mentioned in any of the comics, you can guess are mine.

Sin City  
Dirt White Lies  
Chapter Nine: In a Darkened Room

* * *

The City was burning red, Haley didn't lie when he said he wanted a riot, but unlike what the news said of it being a bunch of people looting and maiming, this was organized, and its just Brown was a damn genius when it came to manipulating. He'd send two guys in the back of a shop, ask the shop owner if he was protected by Renveau, he answered yes, they mark the shop and a bunch of guys come and light the place on fire. No one was killed, except those that decided they wanted to stop it, Renveau sent them and I killed them, usually one at a time, right in the face without a blink. James of course was working discretely, the total body count for him stood at 19, accountants and a banker, the new guy Renveau hired after I killed the last one.

I lit a cigarette and watched the news, Freya poured me another scotch and sat down and watched it with me. She was smiling, I could tell she wanted to be out there living amongst the chaos, so did I but I had to wait, Renveau was coming with heat, he just had to get them organized. The phone rang next to me, I picked it up and put it to my ear and heard the words I'd been waiting for for the last couple of hours, one of Renveau's cruisers was coming downtown, towards the riots and towards us.

"Time to go to work." I muttered getting off my stool.

Freya smiled that devious smile and got off her stool. I finished off my drink, yanked out the pistol in my hand. Freya had her knives on her and the look a man could be killed for. We walked out of the bar and left O' Callahan sitting there watching the news by his loathsome. We got in the cab; I slipped the guy a twenty, told him to floor it. We sped off towards the riots; the guy dropped us off a couple blocks away. We slinked through the back alleys and popped out to Ivory St. I saw Renveau's lackies getting out of the car, armed with machine guns and I spotted a rocket launcher. Freya darted out behind a trash can and pulled a knife; I raised my hand gun and steadied. The devil looked me in the eye as the bullet flew into his head and out the end of it. He hit the car and fell over, everyone else turned and fired, Renveau must've said I was around for them to just fire without terror. I watch Freya sneak up behind one and open his jugular like a pop can. She shoves him into the other guy and throws the knife at his partner, it sticks in his eye and he fires killing his two friends.

I get out from behind the dumpster and look at her; she wipes the blood off her cheek and smears it on the dude's jacket. She looks like a blood splattered angel, wearing a bustier and jeans with a trench coat. The garter around her leg has throwing knives; you couldn't see them till you're dead. She grabbed me by the shoulders and pulls me into a fiery embrace that I'm all to happy to indulge in and I feel the fire. The screech breaks it and I feel her reach down and grab a knife. I raise my handgun and fire, the clip goes dry after 6 shots and I watch the car jack knife into a building and flip and explode. One of Renveau's thugs, covered in blood and crying in pain pulled himself out of the car, she throws the knife into his head and looks back at me.

"Later." I answered.

She smiles at me wickedly and we start checking the dead bodies. I find two sub machine guns and that RPG I spotted, Freya collects her missing knives. We make our way into the mob, armed to the teeth with just about everything you can think of. Someone taps me on the shoulder, I'm surprised to see James in the crowd, that bulge under his jacket means he's got that 30-06 rifle in hand as well.

"C'mon, I found something."

I'm already interested and we head off, Freya taking my hand as we make our way through the crowd into a shop. The place is trashed, things hanging off the wall, it smells like all sorts of death happened in it but nothing, not a dead body in sight. James hops over the counter and kneels down; me and Freya look over and watch him lift up a door in the floor. We make our way over the counter as James starts down the ladder. It smells like rotting meat that died in a way I'm too sickened to think about. James pulls the light and I hear Freya gag. People, hung upside down with their guts hanging out in all the gore and blood, straight out of a fucking horror movie, they're faces out literally contorted in terror. I feel a bit of bile make its way up my throat.

"I found them earlier today…" James answered, "What ever the fuck happened to these people they didn't die by any means of what I'd consider normal."

I make my way over to one of the hanging corpses; one of the lesser mauled ones and looked at some of the missing pieces. I see all the identifying marks and I just can't help but wonder.

"I think these poor fucks were eaten."

I hear Freya make her way up the ladder, James spits, two to one he's got the same taste in his mouth as I do.

"Eaten?" James replied.

"Couple months back, I was sent out after a couple of our guys didn't report in. When I came there, they looked a lot like this. More of them were missing and they were cut up like fucking turkeys. Hands and Feet, first, then they went up the fore arms and kept going. Renveau thought I was fucking crazy till I showed him the pictures, we never found the sick fucker. I guess he realized the heat he brought down."

I turn around and I see the glimpse of the fucker before I watch him lunge at James, I try shouting but it's too late. I'm glad James noticed that look. He spun half way around and caught the guy by the throat. The hand came down and buried itself in his left shoulder. I grit my teeth and send a kick into his throat and I hear something bust. He flies against the wall and bashes his head into the bricks and sinks cold. James grabs his shoulder and looks at the guy. He's wearing glasses and a sweater. His fingernails were sharpened points and his body was cat like. James made his way over to the guy, grabbed him by the neck and dragged him out of the hole.

"The fuck're you doing." I asked.

"Taking him with us, He'll help us kill Renveau or he'll die." James answered.

"Just let me put one between his eyes and we'll be done with it." I replied.

James looked back, the guy he was hold looked up and dug his nails into his arm and scrambled out of the shop. I saw Freya throw a knife into his leg and watched him dash into the shadows. James looked at his bleeding arm and grit his teeth.

"Fuck."

I lit a cigarette and looked at him, "You should've let me shoot the fucker."

"Well, too late for that. Hand me that lighter would you?"

We stare at the shop, fire engulfing and purging the dead and horror from it. James bandaged himself up. I keep thinking back to the little fucker, I had to have fucked him up. That kick to the throat must've damaged his voice box or something. I didn't think much about him, more about the sights created by it, sights that were going to stick with me till I got to the toilet to puke it and my guts out.

* * *

Author's Note: Yeah I know, I'm like Frank Miller when it comes to releasing these things. Anyway, I figured I'd let you guys have another, working on the ending and hopefully I'll get it finished. 


	10. Ghosts, Gals and Goliaths

Disclaimer: I did not make Sin City, or the Characters. They respectfully belong to Frank Miller and Dark Horse comics. Also, any characters I come up with that aren't mentioned in any of the comics, you can guess are mine.

Sin City  
Dirt White Lies  
Chapter Ten: Ghosts, Gals and Goliaths

* * *

The club music is pounding in my ears, kids these days, its not like they can't listen to the song, they got to let every person on the damn block to hear it too. I shake my head and worm my way through the crowd. I have the .45 in my jacket pocket. I broke the Bouncer's jaw just to get in; I doubt he'll be able to tell any police what I look like, not that it matters. I feel someone bump into me and try to grab my wallet, I spin the punk around and throw a punch into his face and knock him on his back. I take my wallet and kick him in the balls just to keep him down.

I shake my and try to get some focus, the damn music is throwing me off, when I find this new gun that Renveau's got I'm going to grind his face off with a car.

"Son of a bitch fucked him up!"

Oh great, he brought a fucking army of idiots. Don't kill them, I tell myself and I turn around. I feel a baseball bat hit my temple and my vision goes white for a second and I smile because that god damn music just left my head. My vision goes dull grey and back to the darkened night club and I forget what I told myself, killing a fucker with a Baseball bat was on my to do list now. I get up, he swings and I jump back, it clips my jacket and knocks the damn gun out of my coat. I lower my head as I jump at him, I roll between his legs and mule kick him in the back. He falls on his face; I grab the bat off the floor and rise up. I see the barrel of my pistol and swing like a maniac. The bullet blows the bat in half in an explosion of wood splinters and screams. Everyone starts hauling ass and I know this isn't going to end well, god damn kids. I take the busted bat and break it off at the handle over the guys head after he realized I just blocked the .45 bullet.

The chair knocks me sideways; I turn around and get clipped by the chair again, this time in the face. I spin and hit the floor on my stomach, the gun is within arms reach, I roll on my back and shoot as he tries to coup de grace on my head. The bullet punctures the chair and blows him off his feet. I put the gun away and look at the three of them lying on the floor and shake my head. All because of a fucking wallet, I mutter silently.

I step over the one with a bullet in his chest and a chair over his face, the music was still pumping. I ripped my gun out and fired blowing the speakers away one at a time and lower the smoking barrel. Finally some fuck-. The blazing hot bullet tears through my shoulder and throws me sideways. I almost scream in terror, a ghost looks me dead in the eye.

* * *

I knock back Tequila and belch; I taste a bit of bile on the back of my tongue and swallow to get rid of it.

"Damn Frey, you need tah cut down sugar." Shelley replied.

"Well, when you see what I've seen Shell, you tell me to cut down." I replied.

The bodies were still hanging in front of my face. I order another shot of Tequila, I'm not surprised that the Bar Tender cuts me off. The door opens up and I look over, some shoves the bouncer into the seat, his face has been smacked around. They're dressed in suits and they got bulges in their pocket.

"'Ey, what's all the ruckus?" The Bartender answers looking over at them.

"We're looking for Freya Goldwyn." They reply, "Renveau sent us. Now which one of you losers has seen her?"

No one says anything, they know better then to say anything, it's a matter of time before they find me. Nancy stops dancing after realizing the situation. They've got everyone's attention.

"Someone tell me where she is." One said pulling out a gun.

Fuck, it's a no win situation. I stand up; they hold out a picture, squint and look at me. They walk on over and grab me by the wrist and squeeze, It doesn't hurt, he thinks it does. Something strikes me and I smile.

"What's the joke bitch?" He asked.

A hand the size of a cinder block lands on his shoulder, it's connected to a tree trunk which is connected to a 7 foot walking vending machine. His eyes are narrowed and he's good and pissed. The guy looks up in terror and drops the gun.

"That's one damn fine coat you're wearing." Marv says plainly, "Freya, you go sit down while I straighten these fellas out and give them a good talking to."

What he's really saying is that he's going to take them outside and give them a reason to believe in god while he puts them through a couple of walls. Kadie's always was my kind of joint.

I go back to my stool, Nancy goes back to Dancing, and Shelley goes back to giving out drinks. The bar is like the world, it doesn't worry about a couple of fucks ruining its mood and it's got the 7 foot Goliath outside giving a human the worst beating of its life. I smile and think about DJ and that rough sex he's going to give me when this is all over with. I can tell he wants me and I want him equally, if he doesn't know that, I'll show him.

* * *

The white light bleeds out of my eyes and I'm lying on the floor. The ghost looks down at me, my breath has stopped and I wonder if I'm dead. He smiles at what he thinks is my corpse and walks away.

Marty… you fucking bastard…


	11. Smashing

Disclaimer: I did not make Sin City, or the Characters. They respectfully belong to Frank Miller and Dark Horse comics. Also, any characters I come up with that aren't mentioned in any of the comics, you can guess are mine.

Sin City  
Dirt White Lies  
Chapter Eleven: Smashing

* * *

Fucker…

I move, he hears it and I wait for him to get close to I can send him to a realm of pain I'm close to. I grab his ankle and smash my fist into his knee cap, I feel it crunch under my knuckles and watch him fall over screaming. It doesn't take me a second to roll onto my stomach and shove myself up. Even with two bullet wounds which I just remembered I had, I still want to tear this fucker apart.

"You really are one tough son of a bitch DJ." Marty said.

I look at him as he holds the barrel at my face, the gleam from one of the lights shines off its nickel plating.

"Fuck you Marty." I said in a raspy voice, "You played my ass."

"Exa fucking actly!" Marty shouted, "But I didn't think your, GAH!" he stood up on one leg and looked me in the eyes, "Pant Ass would be alive after that."

"Alright, let's skip the bullshit, I wanna find out what your jugular looks like." I growl and start towards him.

* * *

I lunge behind the desk as the snaps of bullets echo past my ear. I yank my hoody off and toss it to the side and remove a Desert Eagle. I pump the trigger twice and fire two rounds that nearly break my wrist in the process. I hear and explosion and the wind from it blows my hair back. James cocks that damn rifle of his and fires again, another gust of wind blows onto my face.

Renveau had sent a hit squad, well, it wasn't a hit squad; it was actually 30 or 40 people with Uzi's, Assault Rifles and of my favorite, the all American M249 Machine Guns. He wants us dead, for moment I want it to just be a dream and I hate myself for accepting the truce with DJ. The bullets snap me back inside myself and I smile. James smiles back. Fuck, for the both of us, this has been a good day, who gives a shit if they had that. Renveau at least sees us as a threat, makes me feel so important. I let off a round to show them how happy I am. James laughs his ass off and damn near shoots off the rifle.

"You busted him in his loins Brown."

I let out a howl of laughter amongst the carnage of machine gun fire. I'm glad that the top of this desk is metal, makes this sort of thing so much safer. James' rifle explodes again and I nearly go deaf.

"I put him out of his Misery!" James replied.

I give him the thumbs up and chuckle. I think he realizes we're pretty fucked. The fact that if we kill these guys, there's going to be double that amount in this office looking for them, and even if we live, Renveau will somehow kill us. I think James said it best when we were going to die, we were going out with a bang.

* * *

My fist breaks his jaw and I shout in anger. He flies across the room slamming onto a table and knocking it over taking the chairs with him. He hits the ground with oomph. I walk over and grab him by the neck, he tries pleading with me, but all I hear is bluh and bloo. I grab his nose and tear it off like a scrap of paper and throw it to the side. He screamed to high heaven, not that they or god was here at the moment. I throw a punch to his rib cage and shatter something; I make no point to find out what. Marty grunts and begins drooling.

He sinks to the ground and I look down his body. I sink down to my knees and kneel before his broken corpse. I line his head up and drive my fist into his forehead. Blood shoots out like a bad horror film all over my face. I draw back and throw another, blood squirts over the front of me. I throw it over and over and over until finally my left arm feels like it's ready to fall off. I notice there's something washing parts of the blood off my face. I touch it with my index finger and look at the shiny substance. Tears; pieces of my broken and fractured life pouring out my face as something fills in its absence. I know what I have to do now.

He's out there, laughing, knowing exactly what has transpired I think. He still needs to die, it won't be for Marty, nor O'Callahan, it's for me. It's for me and every son of a bitch's life that's been ruined by him. I swear God, when I kill this man, I will start on a road of redemption, until then, I can not say that this is a wrong course of action…

* * *

James tosses the rifle, my ears are happy to know that it's out of Ammo. I dump the rest of the Uzi clip towards the hallway. James signals for a weapon, I toss him a shotgun. He checks it and pumps the shell in.

"If you and I are dead Brown, let's go out balls first eh?" James replied.

For once, James has an Idea that's got merit, so what, we're dead, I'll deal with it. I stand up in sync with James and we both start down the hallway with guns forward, triggers close to igniting the burning lead in the barrel. We step past the corner and fire. Blood splatters in both directions and me and James are covered in it. We look down at the bloody corpses and realize that we must've shot them all enough times for them to bleed out. Maybe we weren't so fucked.

James lights a cigarette and looks over at me confused, "The hell do you call that?"

I look down at one who's got a knife would to the neck, another has shotgun wound to the back. I stand up and shrug. I wouldn't be able to figure that one out if I had to. Now the large and important question, was DJ alright? And for that matter, was Renveau dead yet?

"No idea man." I say.

We walk through the doors into the dark night, "No idea at all."

* * *


	12. The End

Disclaimer: I did not make Sin City, or the Characters. They respectfully belong to Frank Miller and Dark Horse comics. Also, any characters I come up with that aren't mentioned in any of the comics, you can guess are mine.

Sin City  
Dirt White Lies  
Chapter Twelve: The End

* * *

I walk into the Pawn shop; the guy literally pisses his pants and lunges under the desk. The wounds I took from Marty shooting me are still bleeding but the gauze are holding me together. I know what Frankenstein feels like now. I yank the Katana off the rack, sling it around my belt, pull out my revolver and walk outside. The wind howls, a storm echoes in the distance.

The riots look to have quelled, James and Haley probably called them off. I know the Cops are ready to jump on them and me, but they're waiting for the last card to fall. They're waiting for me to kill Renveau and end this whole fucking thing. I'm not going to Jail, and if they do throw me in it, I'm not giving up anyone for a shorter sentence. I've caused so much misery and I'm so tired of this shit, I'm ending it all with Renveau.

I throw my fist through the window; I feel the glass crack and shatter. I start the car up after hot wiring it and get ready. The Junker groans and starts rolling down the street. The breeze blows on my face and refreshes me, like some goddess of vengeance asking me to make good on my promise. A thought goes to Freya; hopefully she'll be safe at Kadie's. It rolls to Marty and his dead corpse lying on the party floor. I feel something roll down my cheek, its wet so I roll up the window. The storm must be over head now.

Another drip, I look up at the solid roof for a wet spot, there's nothing. It slides down my chin and falls off. I pull the car over and wipe my face and look in the mirror. Two droplets of water roll down my cheeks; a streak of my skin is cut in between the pieces of grime. More begin to roll down my eyes and I pause. Something in my stomach rolls over and I rest my head on the top of the steering wheel.

"Bastard…" I mutter.

I realize their tears, tears that signify my mortality and my humanity. It rolls off my cheeks like some broken faucet and I don't even give a shit. Crying, it's my first time I think, all that sorrow that's welled up in my heart, making it cold and black, its gone, draining through my eyes, purified into tiny specks of pain and loss.

"You fucking bastard…" I mutter again.

For some reason it feels right, everything seems to just clearer. I understand that I'm not killing him for me, nor Marty or O' Callahan, or any fucking person whose life has also been ruined. I'm doing this because it's right, no rhyme or reason, just because it's right. Fuck the fact of vigilantism, fuck the fact that I've given up on myself. Fuck it all.

I slam my fist on the wheel and look up; the tears are flowing down my face, "Fuck it."

The pain subsides and the loss dwindles, I shift it out of park and start driving. The blocks roll past me, I drive through the empty streets not caring about the lights or if a cop was watching. I'm ending this one.

I park the car, get out and start walking; I yank the revolver out of its holster and unsheathe the Katana. Fuck it. I kick open the sliding doors, the windows shatter. The desk assistant looks up in shock. My gun doesn't rise to fire, she's not who I want.

"Tell him I'm coming for him." I tell her.

She nods scared stiff, I don't stick around to see if she calls him. Two thugs appear at the end of the hallway. I raise my revolver and fire twice; they fly back and hit the ground. I get close and hear one choking on his own blood. The blade goes through his jugular and he dies instantly. I keep walking, the empty shell casings hit the floor and I stick in two fresh ones. I light up a cigarette and look over my shoulder. My revolver goes off and kills the guy instantly; his brain matter flies all over the walls.

I start up the stairs, one thug comes running down, clambering to get downstairs as fast as he can, my sword cuts open his belly spills his blood over the side. He cries out and hits the ground, I keep walking upwards. I know the floors he's at. When I reach it I kick open the door and whip around behind the wall as the bullets from the two Sub Machine guns chew through the doorway. I stick my revolver around the corner and fire. I empty the chambers, pulling back the hammer and firing. The cracks of gunfire slow down. I hear a thump and a shout of surprise. I empty the cylinders and pull out my last bullet. I whip around the corner as I see him reload. The trigger unlatches the hammer and the hammer strikes the firing pin. The bullet races out the chamber and strikes the guy in the upper chest. I know he's dead.

I lower the revolver and toss it aside. I walk down the hallway and towards the door. The last time I saw this was two months ago and there was a lot of blood spilled in between these two times. I open the door and step over the threshold.

"She told me you were coming." He said.

I throw the cigarette to the floor and stub it out with my shoe, "I told her to."

"You really are a son of a bitch." Renveau answered swiveling around in his chair.

I don't respond as I want answers to the point, "Why?"

"You were a loose cannon DJ." Renveau snapped, "Christ, you were wild and Marty said he wanted to step up. He had a choice of any one of you three. He decided to go after you; you'd never suspect your own partner in the Murder. Especially if we made it look like he was dead too."

"You played me for a fool."

"We played you to die you dumb son of a bitch!" He shouted, "But you didn't fucking get it! YOU DIDN'T DIE! Now look at what you fucking did."

"I brought your whole life around you Renveau." I replied, "You destroyed everything I had, I'm returning this favor, ten-fold. You betrayed me, and made me kill a lot of unnecessary people. The only person I wanted was you."

"Well here I am." Renveau answered throwing out his hands.

I see the gun in his sleeve, for a second I think about letting him feel safe and decide that he shouldn't feel anything but pain for the rest of his miserable. My sword embeds itself in his desk and his arm falls off at the elbow. He screams like a girl as his blood spills all over the floor.

"AGH!" He cried out in rage.

He lunged over the desk at me, I catch him by the throat and squeeze. His arm comes out and grabs me by the neck and squeezes back. I lift him off his feet and start dragging him towards the window. He knows what I'm going to do and struggles with the best of his ability to fight me. I throw a punch that breaks his jaw and he goes limp. He's still conscious, fine. With a heave his body crashes out his own window. I see his face as he watches me get smaller. I look out over the edge and watch in slow motion as he travels to the pavement.

He screamed as loud as he could, I hear the wet splat as he strikes the cold pavement. It was beautiful, a masterpiece. I step away from the window and pull my katana out of his desk. As I start down the stairs I find my revolver, I pick it up and put it back in its holster. I step out of the stairwell and back out the front desk past the assistant who's fainted in her chair. I walk over to the desk, pick up the phone and make a call.

* * *

The car sputters as it slows down from its hasty pace of 40 miles an hour. I see him sitting on the steps. He looks like shit but he's smiling. For the first time ever, DJ "Killer" Kirra is actually smiling. I walk past the wet mark which I think is the reason and help him to the car. He sits down in the passenger seat and leans back.

"Where to?"

"Just drive Frey." He tells me.

I start the engine, the car comes back to life and we start out towards the edge of Basin City and hopefully toward a life out of it….

The End

* * *

Author's Note: I take my hat off to you all for bothering to read this, I know its M so that means its not to be seen nor heard on normal pages. To those who did, I'm sorry it took so damn long. Cheers. I hope you enjoyed this 12 issue series and I hope it doesn't dissppoint you with the end. 


End file.
